


december

by shadesofwrong



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M, all I want to write is haylor smut and haylor angst, bit of smut, harry misses taylor, hella angst, i miss haylor, short but sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-10 21:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12920505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadesofwrong/pseuds/shadesofwrong
Summary: harry cries out for her every december, he hopes one day she’ll come back.





	december

**Author's Note:**

> i realised it was december and got all sad about haylor
> 
> so i wrote this to make myself feel a little better but now i feel worse because haylor is dead lol fuck anyway 
> 
> enjoy sinners

»

Harry has been waking up at 2am every night for the past few days, no matter what. 

He knows why. He pretends he doesn’t when Camille asks, but he knows.  
He can’t help but know why. 

He called her.  
He fucking called her.  
He called her at 2am four days ago, and now he can’t sleep. 

It’s his own fault, he knows, but he still blames it on this time of year. Every December, without fail, he has the need to be with her.  
Has the need to hold her hand, to kiss her skin, to fuck her, to listen to her speak or sing. Doesn’t matter, really. Any part of her would do. He just needs her. 

 

Harry calls it off with Camille two weeks before Christmas.  
And he doesn’t run off to London like he usually does when he’s sad.  
He stays in New York. 

New York is cold and frosty outside, and Harry decides smoking on the terrace is a good idea.  
Doesn’t do it usually, honestly.  
Camille kind of got him into it, left a packet on his nightstand unintentionally. 

Harry starts to forget what day it is, after the thirteenth. Doesn’t give a fuck. 

He didn’t text or call Taylor for her birthday, like he said he would. He hopes it bothers her.  
Hopes when she’s in the middle of fucking her boyfriend, it suddenly hits her that Harry didn’t call or text. Hopes that as her boyfriend comes beneath her that she starts to tear up, and all the happy events of the day seem to fade away, till they no longer matter, because Harry didn’t call. 

Harry ends up shutting his phone off and shoving it in his kitchen drawer, somewhere around the fifteenth. Give or take. 

He also ends up smoking inside, because it gets too cold. 

He wonders what got him here, wonders how he got to the point of cutting off contact with his friends and family, not leaving his apartment and smoking. He blames her, he fucking blames Taylor. 

Everything feels like a dream, up until the eighteenth, when suddenly she’s at his door.  
It’s then Harry knows he needs help, It’s then he realises how fucked everything is. How fucked he is. 

‘Since when do you smoke?’ she asks, it’s the first thing she says; looking down at his hand, a cigarette between his fingers. 

Harry looks down too. He watches the cigarette burn and smoke, and suddenly wishes it would engulf him in flames. 

‘A new bad habit of mine,’ he mutters, not looking back up at her and he hears Taylor sigh. 

She doesn’t ask to come in, instead she just does. She doesn’t push past him, just manoeuvres around him, like he’s some kind of fragile ornament.  
Harry closes the door. 

Harry bets it’s hard for her to be here. Nostalgic and too personal. He knows she wouldn’t forget him fucking her against the kitchen wall, or her blowing him as he cooked them dinner or Harry eating her out countless amounts of times on his couch... and once on the kitchen bench.  
That’s just the kind of thing people don’t forget. 

She scrunches up her nose, and Harry knows it must reek of smoke and whatever else. Mostly smoke. 

‘Can barely breathe in here, Harry,’ she speaks softly and walks over to one of the windows to pull it open.

Anger bubbles up in Harry’s gut; she’s touching his things and trying to change how his apartment smells; maybe he wants it to smell like smoke.  
Harry speaks before he can stop himself. 

‘You should go,’ he says and Taylor turns from the window to him, her brows pulled together. 

‘Go? I just got here.’

‘I didn’t invite you over.’

Taylor looks thoroughly offended, her mouth hovering open— like she was trying to find something to say, and her eyes watering.  
Harry wishes he could feel bad. 

Taylor walks over to the couch and grabs her bag, she then storms past Harry, slamming the door behind her.  
The sound echoes through Harry’s ears for hours. 

Harry finally leaves New York. He spends Christmas in London, and his mum knows he’s different. 

‘’M fine,’ he assures her and goes to put his suitcase in his room. 

Harry ends up typing out eight messages in his notes to send to Taylor, while he is there. He doesn’t send any of them. 

One of Taylor songs comes on the radio when he’s driving to the local grocer to pick up some cranberries for some sauce for Christmas dinner. 

He tries to listen to it, honestly.  
He thinks it’s a great song, but when he starts to feel the tears well up in his eyes and his skin starting to prickle with goosebumps, he turned the music off all together. 

Harry leaves London on New Years Day, and arrives in New York feeling a lot better than he felt when he left. 

It’s a Wednesday morning when there’s a loud pounding on his door, and when he looks through the peep hole he sees none other than Taylor Swift. 

His heart stammers because... she’s here again. 

Harry doesn’t even get a chance to say hi, instead she pushes him inside, a finger poking him in the chest. 

‘You!’ She yells and Harry can see the tear streaks down her cheeks, ‘You have to ruin everything, don’t you?’ 

‘Wh—’

Taylor kicks the door closed with her foot and storms after Harry. Harry hits the back of the couch and leans against it as she yells. 

‘Why are you so fucking determined to ruin my fucking life, huh? What did I do to deserve this?’ 

Taylor is crying, her hands shaking. She’s got Harry pinned to the couch, and he’s too frightened to move. 

‘I was happy!’ Taylor screams, ‘I was happy with Joe! And you— you—’ she cant finish, instead she grabs ahold of her stomach and drops her head to the ground, soft sobs escaping her pretty lips. 

Harry watches her for a few moments, and he remembers how human she is. Sometimes he forgets, sometimes he thinks she does too. 

He hasn’t seen her cry like this since 2013. Exactly this time, five years ago. She blamed him that night too, except he didn’t just sit there and take it, like now. He screamed too.

‘Did he break up with you?’ Harry asks when Taylor seems to be calmer. She shakes her head. 

‘No. I did,’ she whispers and Harry barely hears it. 

‘Why?’ He asks and Taylor lets out a shaky breath. 

‘You know why.’ 

Harry does. Harry knows because it’s the reason he called it off with Camille. And everyone else after Taylor too. 

It’s always been her. And it always will be. 

—

Harry’s sliding in and out of Taylor, listening to her grunts and moans, when he realises it’s been a year. 

It’s January, and he never would’ve believed it if someone told him a year ago that he and Taylor would be where they are now. 

‘A year,’ he pants, pushing his hips forward and Taylor lets out a low grunt as he hits deep inside her. 

‘What?’ she breaths, her eyes squeezed shut, head pushing back into the white pillows, ‘Touch me.’ 

Harry reaches in between them to rub at her and Taylor yells out, clawing at one of his ass cheeks. Harry moans. 

‘A—a year,’ he gasps as his orgasm really starts to build up. It’s all he can really say, right now. 

Taylor lifts her hips to match his long steady thrusts, and when Harry comes inside her and Taylor is biting his shoulder to stop herself from waking up their neighbours, he rolls over next to her, both panting and trying to catch their breath. 

The blanket is kicked down the other end of the bed, and though the room was cold before, it now feels warm and slightly stuffy. 

Taylor hooks her leg over his hip a few minutes later, his soft dick brushing her thigh, her heartbeat loud in his ear. 

‘I know,’ she whispers, and Harry turns his sweaty head to look at her. Her mouth is still parted, her chest and stomach still rising and falling with each short breath. 

She’s not tired like she usually is after sex, and from the look in her eyes, Harry reckons she’s not done. 

‘It’s been a year,’ she nods, to clarify what she meant. Harry smiles. Taylor does too. 

She then reaches a hand down and wraps it around his dick. Harry bites his bottom lip. And though he was expecting it; he’ll never get used to her, he’ll never stop being surprised. 

‘Will you still love me in another years time?’ She asks, her thumb running over his tip. Harry moans, nodding as he grows hard in her hand. 

‘Always. Always love you, baby,’ he mutters, and he means it. She knows. 

‘Good,’ Taylor says and climbs on top of him. 

Harry watches her sink down onto him for the second time that night. He’s pretty sure, that in a years time they’ll be doing the same thing. Maybe a diamond ring on her finger, maybe a kid downstairs asleep in a crib. 

He’s not sure, as long as she’s there, he doesn’t really care.


End file.
